What Every Revolutionary Has to Face
by Melissa Brandybuck
Summary: Barricades? Government? No...FANGIRLS! Originally OneShot. You asked for it.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: I'm not sure where this came from…It's 11:00 PM…Hmm…I have just downed a bottle of iced tea in 2 minutes…What better to do than write torture for dear Enjolras and Co.?**

**Am not expecting any reviews for this.**

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**Enjolras was panting as he dashed into the back room of the Café Musain. He had just been walking down the street, his mind immersed in whatever revolutionaries' minds are immersed in at 5:40 PM; when suddenly he heard an extremely girly giggle. When I say 'girly', this is quite literal. Boys don't giggle. _Do they?_ Enjolras paused, thinking over this. 

And while he thinks, let me get back to the point. He had just heard a giggle, and he looked around cautiously. He was in a deserted alley that was also a dump. This alley, though Enjolras had never known why, was called 'Fan-Girl Alley'. Courfeyrac had attempted to explain this to him once, but Enjolras never listened. Upon hearing the giggle, an overwhelming curiosity overcame our dear revolutionary, and he sauntered cautiously into the direction of the dump side of the alley. Upon reached there, he saw a bonfire, and a gaggle of 5 girls sitting around it. All giggling. One girl, who appeared to be the leader of the group, stood up and announced in a very loud and high-pitched voice, "Let the VIP Meeting of the Fan Girls begin!"; and sat down and barked, "Report, Vice-President!"

"Yes, Miss President, ma'am!" another girl replied, standing up straight, "I didn't catch his name, but he was absolutely gorgeous. I saw him while I was walking outside the Café Musain last night at 8:00 PM, while he was coming out. He seemed sort of shy, and reading this piece of paper in his hands, with a pen perched behind his ear."

"Hair color, eye color?" the 'President' had asked, sounding curious.

"Both brown," the other girl replied, "Medium brown hair, and dark brown eyes that looked sort of dreamy." She had then given a contented sigh, and Enjolras felt a chill. The girl had just described Jean 'Jehan' Prouvaire. Noting that the time was already 5:50, he had then paused, but listened on, his curiosity putting this in front of a Revolution.

"Ooh!" one of the other girls shrieked, "I saw him yesterday! He IS gorgeous!"

"Calm down!" the President squealed, "That's no way for our Secretary to act!"

"You're right," the Secretary said, lowering her head, "Sorry. But it's TRUE!"

"All right, then," the President grinned, "Let's take a vote. All who choose this fellow, say 'I'!"

All of them chorused 'I', in squeaky girlish tones.

"Has our Informative come yet?" a short blonde girl – who couldn't have been more than 14, Enjolras thought, shocked – piped up.

"I'm here," a softer, but more sinister voice whispered. Enjolras and the girls glanced up at a wooden fence, and saw a figure in black perched on it.

"Do you know who he is?" the President eagerly asked.

"No," the 'Informative' replied, "But I _do_ know that there's a beauty of a revolutionary eavesdropping on us called Enjolras."

"Enjolras?" the Secretary gasped, "_The_ Enjolras?"

Being referred to in this tone scared Enjolras, and he started backing away.

"Yes," the Informative replied, "_The_ Enjolras."

The Secretary squealed with delight, and pointed at Enjolras, who was hiding in the shadows, eyes wide with fear. Upon seeing him, 2 more girls (whose rank Enjolras hadn't heard) took up a squealing chant.

"Girls! Girls!" the President called, shocked, "Don't behave like this!"

"SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" had been the reply.

"Girls!" the President recalled, now worried, "Vice-President, help!"

"I would…but…" the Vice President suddenly let out an evil grin, "SQUEEEEEE!"

"You're right girls…" the President sighed, "I hate to react like this, but REALLY…"

The other girls looked at the President, grinning lovesick grins. The President took a deep breath, and squealed: "OHMYGAWDITSLIKEENJOLRASHEISLIKESOOOOOHOTOHMYGAWD!"

This was incomprehensible to Enjolras, but it gave him the information his legs needed.

Run.

**

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**Enjolras shuddered on recollecting this memory, and walked over to his usual spot in the room and sat down. On further pondering this hellish nightmare, he remembered that the girls had (except for the Informative) chased him giggling and squealing down the street. 

He decided to do what was sensible. Forget about it.

Then realized he should warn Jean Prouvaire.

Snapping out of his trance, he looked around at the ABC, who were staring at him with looks of mingled amusement, horror, fascination, and (in Jean Prouvaire's case) a dreamy look.

"What?" Enjolras harshly snapped.

"Uh…Enjolras…?" Combeferre said, gaping and pointing.

"WHAT?" Enjolras repeated loudly.

"You…you're…"

"I'M WHAT?" he bellowed.

"You're sitting on Grantaire's lap!" Courfeyrac interrupted.

This was news to Enjolras, who froze, then toppled onto the floor in shock. This created uproar at the table. Joly immediately seized the chance to pounce on Enjolras to make sure he was all right ("Are you SURE you're okay? No broken bones? Nothing?"); Courfeyrac started laughing extremely hard and his face was turning red (Bossuet became concerned for him); Combeferre rushed over to Enjolras to help him up; Bahorel choked on his wine, and the rest of the group laughed (With the exception of Jean Prouvaire, who was blushing).

"I'm all right…" Enjolras muttered, pushing Joly away.

"Are you SURE you're all right?" Joly asked again.

"Yes, I'm SURE." Enjolras replied, restraining himself from yelling.

"All right, no need to be sarcastic about it!" the hypochondriac trotted over to Grantaire, whose face contained nothing but amusement.

"Are Gods supposed to be heavy, Apollo? Or is this some sort of other worldly punishment inflicted upon my humble mortal self?" Grantaire grinned.

Enjolras opened his mouth angrily to reply, but nothing came.

"Can't say I prefer thunderbolts and arrows to it though," Grantaire continued, obviously drunk, "Or is this some new game to -?"

"I think it's done more good than bad, Grantaire," Courfeyrac mused, taking deep breaths, "You're considerably thinner than before."

This brought a round of laughs, and Grantaire returned to his normal seat.

Cautiously, Enjolras returned to his seat, as if he expected some other sort of torture to be there. Luckily for him, none came.

After this bit of excitement, the usual hustle and bustle of the ABC continued.

Enjolras, though he began shifting through a sheaf of papers on the table, was completely consumed by the fact that five teenage girls had ran after him, squealing and giggling and…

Enjolras shuddered. They had even known his name!

"What's wrong, Apollo?" Grantaire suddenly called, shockingly – sober. This caused the group to quiet suddenly, who looked cautiously at their leader.

"It's…it's nothing…" Enjolras hesitated. Apparently, this was not as inconspicuous as his had hoped.

"Go on, Enjolras," Feuilly said, slightly grumpily (he had just lost a 4 games of poker against Courfeyrac), "What is it?"

"Nothing…" Enjolras insisted.

"Come on! Tell!" the whole ABC began chorusing this now, "Go on!"

"It's…well…" Enjolras took a deep breath, "IwasjustwalkingdownthisalleyandIsawthesegirlsandtheyweretalkingaboutYOUJehanandthentheysawMEandthentheystartedchasingaftermeanditwas…shocking…"

"Wait…what's this about girls talking about me?" Jehan immediately asked.

"Were they pretty?" Courfeyrac immediately asked.

"Take deep breaths." Joly advised.

"Repeat it slowly." Combeferre suggested.

Enjolras took the last piece of advice, and relayed the story.

"So, a group of girls ran after you?" Courfeyrac asked, his bright green eyes lighting up.

"Yes." Enjolras answered, annoyed at this calm reaction.

"Typical," Courfeyrac shrugged, and went back to his card game, "It would've happened sooner or later." The rest of the ABC seemed to agree, and went back to whatever they were doing. Grantaire was the only one who seemed concerned.

"Are you sure you're all right, Fearless Leader?" he asked.

"Yes, Grantaire…I'm fine," Enjolras sighed, and he got up to leave, "See you tomorrow," he shrugged.

**

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**Jean Prouvaire walked out of the Café Musain, looking dreamily at his work of poetry. He'd been doing that for a day or two now. He liked it, though. It gave him a reason for life. He walked down an alley to go home, and stopped. The silence was absolutely gorgeous, so he sat down and started to write. 

Suddenly, his perfect silence was interrupted by a giggle.

Jean Prouvaire stood up, determined to find the miscreant who had ruined this beautiful noise that was not a noise.

He wandered to the dump.


	2. Where's Jean Prouvaire?

**A/N: You asked for it.**

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**Enjolras couldn't sleep. 

He was lying in his bed, staring up at a crack in the ceiling which appeared to take on the form of a choking chicken.

_Choking chicken_, Enjolras thought dreamily, _nice alliteration. I wonder if Prouvaire would like it?_

Prouvaire.

The ABC member furiously smashed his pillow with his fist and rolled over. Whatever he thought, it always seemed to connect with Prouvaire. Even when he was thinking about blue cups (if you're interested, they were Jean Prouvaire's favorite shade). These thoughts aren't hinting any slash, if that's what you're thinking – no, no. Quite the contrary (Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? Ooh, a rhyme. Jean writes rhymes!). Enjolras was simply worried about his friend. He had already been ambushed by the group of girls, and they had been talking about Jean right before they found him; so, quite naturally, he was worried about the fan girls (he shuddered) finding Prouvaire.

_I can't check on him now, so I guess I'll ask about him tomorrow,_ he rationalized.

With this thought, his mind began to calm.

He was just about to fall asleep, when he saw something at the window.

Now, Enjolras' room was on the first floor of the flat, so it was very easy for someone to climb over the surrounding hedge, and peer in his window.

Very easy for anyone.

Especially a fan girl.

Slowly, Enjolras edged closer to the window.

His worst fears were confirmed.

Two bright green eyes stared back at him from the face of the 'Informative' he saw at the meeting. When the girl saw that he saw her, she quickly jumped over the hedge and left.

Enjolras sat up uneasily, looking around his dark and slightly foreboding looking room. Questions began swirling into his mind…

_I hope Jean Prouvaire's all right!_

_Are they after him?_

_Should I check on him?_

And perhaps most importantly,

_How the bloody hell did that girl jump over the hedge?_

In his mind, the severe voice of Combeferre replied, "Language, Enjolras."

Great. Now Combeferre was stalking him too.

Enjolras pondered this. Shuddered. And walked out of his room.

**

* * *

**Enjolras trotted quickly and quietly to Jean Prouvaire's house, feeling uneasy. He tried the doorknob, and found it wasn't locked. Feeling a sense of paranoia coming over him again, Joly's voice popped into his head, "Take deeeeeeep breaths." 

Ugh.

He looked cautiously about the dark hallway, and opened the door of Prouvaire's room. This added more to Enjy's paranoia, which was already growing rapidly.

He saw a form lying on Prouvaire's bed, which matched the poet's physique. Sighing with relief, but not really sure it the paranoia had faded, Enjolras quietly called, "Jean!"

No reply.

"Prouvaire?"

No reply.

"Jehan?"

No reply.

"_Prouvaire?_"

Still no reply.

"GET UP YOU LAZY PIG!" he yelled, paranoia taking the better of him. Joly's advice sullenly faded.

"AAAAARGH!" the form on the bed called, jumping up, "What? What? What?" he replied.

"Lesgles?" Enjolras' jaw dropped.

"Yes, the one and only. Why?"

"What are you doing in Prouvaire's house?" he hissed.

"I'm staying at his house tonight. No where else to go," Lesgles shrugged, "What about you?"

"I was looking for him," was the icy reply.

"He should be back soon," Lesgles laid back onto the bed, "I should have known. Everything that's meant to go wrong will go wrong. Including sleep."

Enjolras left the house, closing the door behind him. Prouvaire wasn't in his house…so where was he?

The frightened revolutionary started making his way back to his house, when he heard a yelp to the right of the street he was on. Enjolras paused, turning right…towards…_Fan Girl Alley…_

He knew that yelp.

He had to save Jean Prouvaire from the clutches of the fan girls.

Enjolras slowly made his way to the alley to save his friend.

Little did he know, someone was following him.

Someone familiar...

Dressed in black, with green eyes.

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**A/N: It's not who you think it is. Or maybe it is. I'm not actually sure. It's all a matter of opinion, see?**


	3. An Unwanted Intrusion

Thanks to: **Penny**, **AmZ**, **Jinky**, **La Mims**, **Elyse3**, **M. Mabeuf**, **Mietta**, **Robyn-Enjolras**, **Precious Angel**, **Music Angel no.24601**, **Pontmercy** (Could you please type your email again? It didn't get through), **unseengenius**, and **Erik's Wild Nightingale** for reviewing. I'm glad this brightened up your days…your reviews certainly brightened mine.

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Enjolras quietly and carefully crept down the alley (which doesn't mean it sloped or anything, but…you know) and kept to the shadow of a warehouse that ran along its side.

_Please let Jean be all right…please let Jean be all right…_were the only words running through our fearless leader's head…and we know he sort of has a very one-tracked mind. So one-tracked, in fact that he was going to go ANY lengths to save his friend.

Well, maybe not ANY lengths.

But far enough, that's the point.

Also – being absolutely focused on the task at hand – he did not notice the figure creeping up behind him until it called "Enjolras?"

Enjolras gasped, spinning around and seeing the cloaked figure. Immediately directing this ghastly image to the Informative, he pounced on it, pinning it to the ground.

"Enjolras! Let go of me! Ow!" A familiar voice whined.

This took a moment to sink in.

"Courfeyrac?" Enjolras asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yes! Courfeyrac! Now, GET OFF ME!"

Enjolras backed off Courfeyrac, who looked amused and annoyed at the same time.

"My God, do you know how much you _weigh_?" he said, giving a little laugh and brushing himself off.

"Are you calling me fat?" Enjolras huffily said, half relieved, half angry.

"No…more…" Courfeyrac paused, trying to find a non-insulting word, "Big-boned."

"Well, at least I'm not-!" Enjolras paused, hearing another yelp that sounded more like a whimper.

"Yes, not what? Go on!" Courfeyrac interrupted, looking slightly offended, though curious, as he did not quite know what the offence really was.

"Shush!" Enjolras motioned for him to be silent, squinting at the entrance to the dump.

"What's wrong? What're you looking for?" the ever-inquisitive Courfeyrac asked, being…well…inquisitive, "Come to think of it. What're you doing out here in the first place?"

Enjolras turned around, "I'll tell you…if you _shut up_."

"Fine, fine!" Courfeyrac crossed his arms, using his hands to motion that he should continue.

"I'm here…to save Jean Prouvaire from the Fan Girls."

Courfeyrac burst out laughing.

"Enjolras! I never knew you were so good at making up stories!" he chortled, clutching his stomach and gasping for air.

"I'm not joking!"

This only succeeded in making Courfeyrac laugh harder.

"Shut up!"

This of course, made Courfeyrac laugh even harder.

"Never mind!" with his friend laughing his head off behind him, Enjolras crept up to the entrance of the dump, looking in.

Sure enough, there were the girls looking smug.

"We got him!"

"Yup!"

"Yes, good job, fellow Fan Girls," the President said, nodding, "We got the first one. One down, seven to go."

_Seven?_ Enjolras wondered, _that couldn't be right…Grantaire, Marius, Joly, Bahorel, Lesgles, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and me. That's 9…_

Realizing what he had just thought, he shook his head in horror.  
Why would the fan girls be after the Les Amis de l'ABC?

Sure, some of them looked all right…but…not all of them, surely!

_Ah, not all of them…Seven…_this swirled in Enjolras' head, and he understood.

Or rather, he thought he did.

_That would be Marius, Joly, Bahorel, Lesgles, Feuilly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Prouvaire…Those eight…_

Enjolras, giving not the least bit of care to his looks, didn't include himself in the list.

Oddly enough, this made him more correct than he knew.

"What're you looking at?" Courfeyrac interrupted, popping up next to him.

"Look, the fan girls!" Enjolras hissed.

"What? I don't see anyone."

True to his word, the fan girls had departed.

"Oh. Well, they left." Enjolras glumly concluded, "We'll never find Prouvaire! They've held him hostage!" he paused, then grabbed Courfeyrac by the shoulders, "You might be next! Barricade yourself!"

Courfeyrac slowly put his hands on Enjolras' shoulders firmly and looked him in the eye.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm not crazy, if that's what you're saying!"

"Enjolras, seriously. I think you need to lie down."

"_I_ think that we should save Jean Prouvaire."

"Well, _I _think that Jean Prouvaire is fine. At home. Sleeping. As we both should be doing. Come on, I'll walk you home." Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but Courfeyrac stopped him, "Nothing you say is going to change my mind. I'm here to help. After all, what are friends for?"

"Well…maybe I was just imagining things…" Enjolras admitted, "But…honestly…"

"Just get some sleep, Enjolras. The truth shall come with the dawn."

"That was oddly poetic."

"Yes, I know. I got it from Jean Prouvaire."

And with that, the two trotted back to Enjolras' apartment.

_The truth shall come with the dawn…_

And – unfortunately enough – it did.

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**One more thing, a question Mietta had: "Did his beloved vest survive?"**

**Actually, the vest DOES come into play. Somewhere. At some point. I think.**


	4. The Unfortunate Truth

**A/N: **I am freakishly sorry for not updating, lots of homework and Writers' Block. Thanks to: **unseengenius **(I didn't realize I wrote about weight twice), **a little fall of rain **(Jehan's rescue won't be much of a rescue, and it'll be quite a while later), **Bubonic Woodchuck **(YOU drew THAT! You're awfully talented! Note about Grantaire fans at the bottom), **Music Angel no. 24601 **(How – exactly – do YOU know what the fan-girls are like? suspicious Joking), **Erik's Wild Nightingale **(I'm glad the vest survived too), **Tsunami Wave **('Who doesn't want to "'nap" Grantaire?' Sorry, that came out wrong in my mind, lol. Note about Grantaire fans at the bottom), **Beckswashere **(I think I'll update) and **Javerts-Wench **(Yes, I _did_ make up the quote for purposes of the story. It took me…uh…a couple seconds really, because at heart, I am poet through and through!)

**P.S. Didn't someone ask for Marius? hinthint**  
**P.P.S. If I didn't include your name up there, I'm sorry, since I wrote half of those comments 2 months ago.**

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Jean Prouvaire groggily awoke, raising his head from a cold floor. He squinted in the dimness of the room, and rubbed his eyes feverishly.

_Is it just me, or do the walls have eyes?_

Walls with eyes were a bad, bad omen.

_Ah, no. They're faces looking in._

That, perhaps, was worse.

"He's awake!" he heard someone cry from outside the 'wall', which was made of glass.

"W-who are you people?" Jean squeaked in a terrified voice. All he remembered was a bunch of teenage girls knocking him out.

Were these kidnappers?

Were they going to murder him?

Prouvaire pondered this, and settled with:

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

He backed away from the walls.

A group of girls were standing in front of the glass wall, beaming at him sweetly.

"The Vice-President was right, he is pretty…" a brunette sighed, looking dreamy.

_Pretty? Me?_

Funny, Prouvaire always fancied himself rather masculine. You know, dashingly handsome and all.

"He's awake, Ms. President!" a new girl squeaked, coming into view with a taller, blonde teenager – the 'President'.

"Ah, good, good," she opened a door that Jean hadn't noticed before, and beckoned for him to come out, "We don't mean you any physical harm."

He didn't like the emphasis on 'physical', but he slowly walked towards the girl anyways.

"Girls, get out of here," the President snapped, and the other girls sullenly trotted off, "Now, dearest Prouvaire – may I call you Jehan? – our other…um…residents will explain everything to you," the President said briskly, standing up, "I've got to go to lunch, sorry," and she cast a remorseful glance at the poet, then left through a door, which locked ominously with a 'click'.

"Um…what?" Prouvaire finally said, his words echoing around the room, which seemed silent.

"Prouvaire?" a familiar voice suddenly called, "Jean Prouvaire?"

"Marius? Is that you?" Jean asked, shocked.

"Yes! Yes! It's such a relief to see you!" Marius stepped out of the shadows, a tired grin on his face, "It's been terrible here…I haven't seen my loved one in ages! Uh…I mean…" Marius paused, blushing, "I haven't gotten _any_ sleep in ages!"

Jehan opened his mouth to ask about this loved one, when he noticed a horde of girls standing outside the door (there were windows on the sides). They squealed as Marius and Jehan looked around at them.

Marius and Jean Prouvaire – both being sensitive people – whimpered and took a step back.

"This," Marius whispered, "Is going to be a _long_ stay."

**

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**

"Combeferre?"

"Yes, Courfeyrac?"

"I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Our homework."

"Again?"

"Well…"

"Maybe you would if you _paid attention_. And _studied_."

"I do pay attention! I do study!"

"Sleeping, maybe, but otherwise…" Combeferre sighed. This was the 5th time this week that Courfeyrac didn't understand their homework, and Combeferre wasn't exactly intent on explaining it all to him again.

"Will you please explain it to me?" Courfeyrac begged, his green eyes immediately turning rounder and watery.

Dieu, that boy can act…Combeferre thought, shaking his head. 

"No."

"I'll do something for you!"

"What?"

"I'll…pay you!"

"No thanks."

"I'll buy you dinner."

"No."

"I'll…lend you my mistress."

"No!"

"I'll do your homework!"

"You don't understand it!"

"I'll be nice…"

"You're already nice!"

"I'll be nice_r_…"

"No."

Courfeyrac looked on the verge of tears – fake tears.

"All right! All right! I'll explain it to you…English, right? (A/N: They're supposed to speak French, remember?)"

"Yup."

"Okay, it's I after E except before C…no wait…hang on…C after E, except…uh…wait a minute…hmm…"

This went on for 5 minutes.

During those five minutes, Feuilly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Joly, and Grantaire had assembled in the room. Also in those five minutes, Courfeyrac had begun to fall asleep, his head resting comfortably on Combeferre's shoulder.

"Hmm…is it I or E or D or C?" the latter wondered.

Conveniently at this point, Enjolras strode in the room.

Perhaps I should correct myself.

Conveniently at this point, Enjolras stomped into the room in a very bad mood, the ground practically shaking.

"Mighty Apollo, what has induced your wrath today?" Grantaire casually asked, caressing a wine bottle.

"What's the big idea?" Courfeyrac grumbled, yawning.

"Has anyone seen Jehan?" Enjolras demanded, ignoring Grantaire and Courfeyrac.

'No' was the chorused answer.

"Bossuet," Enjolras barked, turning to Lesgles, "Did you see Jehan?"

"Uh…let me think…" Lesgles said.

"Well?" Enjolras impatiently asked.

"I might remember better if I had some money," he offered.

Enjolras forked over.

"So, did you see him?" the dazzling blonde revolutionary asked again.

"No," Lesgles replied, pocketing the money. Courfeyrac burst out into unceremonious laughter, receiving a glare from Enjolras.

"Sorry…" Courfeyrac muttered, still grinning.

"See? See?" Enjolras huffily said, "I _told_ you they kidnapped him!"

"What? You're _still_ thinking that?" Courfeyrac asked disbelievingly, "I thought you were joking or sick – " Joly pushed his chair farther away from Enjolras " – or something."

"Jehan's been kidnapped?" Combeferre demanded, snapping out of his 'I…no…E? Hmm…must be C' reverie.

Enjolras solemnly nodded, while Courfeyrac solemnly shook his head.

"Okay…" Combeferre said slowly, trying to decide who to trust, "Where's the proof?"

Everyone looked expectantly at Enjolras.

"The proof?" Enjolras said, blinking, "The proof? Okay, here's the proof. I was walking down the street last night, and a bunch of crazed and giggling girls chased me down the street after commenting how good-looking Jehan was. Later that night I went to see if Jehan was all right, and Lesgles is in his room saying he has no idea where Jehan is. I go out to find him, hear a shriek, and go to investigate. I look around Fan-Girl Alley, I see the same girls saying that they've finally 'got him'. I'm about to confront them, and Courfeyrac insists that they're not there, distracting me, and letting them escape," Enjolras took a deep breath, "There's your proof."

A silence fell.

"That's not really proof, Enjolras, I'm sorry," Combeferre said meekly, "Jehan might just be sick or something."

"Oh?" Enjolras challenged, "Then let's go find him."

Combeferre sighed and stood up. Everyone stared at him.

"What are you waiting for?" he said, "Let's go."

**

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**A/N: As promised, the note on Grantaire fans: It is absolutely _vital_ that Grantaire not get kidnapped now. If he does or doesn't…well, I don't want to ruin the story for you. ;) Sorry!  
****- Lys**


	5. The Next Two

**A/N: **I'm a terrible updater, aren't I? Sorrysorrysorry! Thanks to: **Tsunami Wave **(That is for me to know, and for you to find out!)**, Anonymous/Penny **(Okay, OKAY! For some reason, the time when you stuffed my Enjy-sock-puppet into my mouth came to mind), **Tay-kun **(Here's your update!), **Kara **(Am waiting for the piccie of me and Jehan! Thanks!), **Daughter of Thranduil **(Yay! Thanks:hugs new reviewer:), **Javerts-Wench **(Thanks!)! PLUS: Random thanks to the random person at Penny's school who heard of me.

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Combeferre whistled as he walked past a darkened alley. Enjolras had been so sure that Jehan had been kidnapped, but Combeferre secretly thought otherwise. Now they had split up to find him: Courfeyrac with Enjolras, Bossuet with Joly, Grantaire with Feuilly, and Combeferre with Bahorel. There had been no luck so far, and Combeferre was getting nervous. Veeeeery nervous. Veeeeeeeeeeeery nervous. So nervous, I cannot even emphasize how nervous he was. Let us say that he was simply nervous. Veeery nervous. Oh, and did I mention nervous?

"Seen anything?" Combeferre casually asked Bahorel.

"Combeferre," he said exasperatedly, "That's the 5th time in 3 minutes you've asked me that."

"Oh, really?" Combeferre said, flustered, "So, have you s - ?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay."

A pause.

"_Do_ you think Jehan's all right?" Combeferre burst out, glasses askew.

"I'm sure he's fine. After all, finding a poet in Paris is – "

" – a nice alliteration?" Combeferre offered.

" – hard." Bahorel ended.

"Oh."

" 'Oh' indeed." Bahorel sniffed and looked around, "So, do _you_ see anything, Combeferre?"

"Oh! Look at that!" Combeferre frantically pointed past Bahorel, "The alley!"

"Yes, it is an alley, Combeferre. Good job." Bahorel confirmed.

"No, no!"

"So, it's NOT an alley?"

"Bahorel - !"

"If it isn't an alley, what do you think it is? A secret hideout for Jehan's kidnappers?"

"Oh, Bahorel, don't be silly! This is Fan-Girl Alley, as Courfeyrac named it, and only goodness knows why – "

"However, as you always say, 'the good is innocent', so, what would they have to do with Courfeyrac?" Bahorel dryly added.

" – as I was saying before I was so _rudely interrupted_," Combeferre huffily said, "Look, here's a sheet of paper!"

"Ooh! A sheet of paper!" Bahorel sarcastically replied.

"Look!" Combeferre picked up the paper and waved in frantically in his face.

"Great! Scribbles!" Bahorel called out, batting away the paper.

"Not just scribbles – _Jehan's _scribbles!"

Bahorel blinked.

"What does it say?"

"It says…" Combeferre squinted and turned the paper around. Then around again. Then again, "Hmm…what _does_ it say?" he stared at the paper, as if a hidden message would appear in front of his eyes.

"Combeferre, perhaps it would help if you flipped the page over?"

"Ah, yes, of course," Combeferre expertly flipped it over, dropping it, picking it up again, and finally reading, he opened his mouth, then stopped.

"What is it NOW?" Bahorel impatiently said.

"It is almost as if," Combeferre's voice lowered to a whisper, "Some force is trying to stop us from reading the paper…"

Bahorel felt a chill run down his spine.

"However," Combeferre straightened up, "We all know that's a silly idea. Now, it says…" he squinted, "'Silence'."

Bahorel blinked.

Again.

"That's very…" he tried to search for words, "Very…very…uh…just very."

"Perhaps it is a secret message!" Combeferre excitedly said.

"Uh-huh. Right." Bahorel said slowly, drawing out the 'i'.

"Let's rearrange the letters!" Combeferre beamed, whipping out a pencil. After a minute or so, Combeferre began to mutter under his breath rapidly – rather like chanting a spell, Bahorel noticed. He heard a scurrying sound, and _thought_ he heard whispers. Probably a cat, he decided. An ugly cat. Who's just lost a fight with a dog or –

A giggle.

His heart-rate increased a little, and he felt a chill run down his spine for a second time.

_Hadn't Enjolras mentioned giggles in Fan-Girl Alley?_

"Combeferre," Bahorel slowly said, "We need to get out of here…now…"

"Hang on…"

"Really, Combeferre, we – "

"Waaaaait a minute…"

"Let's leave right - !"

"I'VE GOT IT!"

Bahorel jumped.

"You have?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, what is it?"

"It means," Combeferre paused, possibly for dramatic effect.

"Yes, go on?"

Sullen, Combeferre continued, "Selenic!"

"Selenic." Bahorel repeated.

"Yes, selenic."

"Why would he write that?"

"I don't know."

"And what does it mean?"

"Well, it could mean – " Combeferre fell silent, looking stricken.

"Yes?"

Thump.

Combeferre fell face flat on the floor.

"Combeferre!" Bahorel kneeled down to see his friend, and slowly but surely looked up.

He was face-to-face with a dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark-clothed girl.

"Hello!" she beamed, "Could you please move aside? Pretty-please?"

"No!" Bahorel fiercely said, taken aback, and rather shocked.

"It would really make my job easier."

"No, he's my friend."

"Ah, brotherly love…" the girl sighed, then smiled, "Or not so brotherly."

"What are you saying?" Bahorel suspiciously asked.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself," the girl airily said.

"Perhaps you should." Bahorel replied through gritted teeth.

"Thank you for being on my side," the girl said with a not-so-friendly smile, "I am the Slash President of the Literary section of our club."

"The _what ­_- ?"

"The President said no talking!" another voice hissed as a short, blue-eyed brunette appeared.

"Sorry," the first girl – Slash President? – breezily said.

"However," the shorter one continued, "I am part of the First Aid team," she looked down at Combeferre and sighed, "Oh, I really want to…" she let the sentence trail off.

"Yes? Want to what?" Bahorel icily asked.

But suddenly, the two girls seized hold of Combeferre and began dragging him away.

"Hey!" Bahorel lunged for Combeferre, resulting in a tug-of-war of sorts. The girls were, he thought, much stronger than he had supposed. "Help!" he cried, vainly hoping that Enjolras or someone else would hear him.

And someone did.

Who should come dashing into Fan-Girl Alley but…

Bossuet!

"Bahorel!" he cried, rushing towards them, conveniently tripping and knocking into Bahorel, who lapsed into immediately concussion. The fangirls – whom the clever readers should've already guessed they were – let out a loud SQUEEEE! of victory. And suddenly, there were 3 fangirls. Bossuet blinked. 4.

5.

7.

10.

15.

"Oh…my…God…" he scrambled backwards as the fangirls multiplied, carrying Bahorel and Combeferre away. With one last, helpless, hopeless look at his two unconscious friends, he knew what he had to do.

He ran.

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**A/N: Again I apologize for lack of updates. Keep reviewing! And, uh, special note. If you will be amused to find yourself inside my story as a fangirl, please give me your name. First name only. And, I cannot guarantee I'll mention you, but I'll try. After a while, I have a feeling we'll be using quite a few names. I also have a special treat for you once I finish the story. Thanks!  
**Don't fall off the barricade!  
- Lys 


	6. Combeferre Demands an Explanation

**NOTE: If you're never mentioned in the story (though I'll try to incorporate everyone), be prepared at the end of this story. I have a few surprises for you guys after the end. That sounds weird.**

**A/N: This took…a while. This is a short, transitional chapter. Fangirls/guys (reviewers) will be mentioned in later chapters, and…yeah. This is a super-short chapter, just to tell you all that I'm still alive. Thanks to the reviewers, I'm kinda lazy to type all you guys out. Also thanks to my Courfeyrac/Feuilly story reviewers. O.o**

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"Combeferre?" Jehan's voice echoed in his head.

Combeferre opened his eyes, blinking in the glaring light.

"Combeferre?" another voice that sounded suspiciously like Marius' called.

"GET UP!" Bahorel roared, his voice jerking Combeferre back to reality.

"Wh-huh?" Combeferre squinted in the midst of the bright, white lights surrounding him, "Am I in heaven?" he asked, voice suddenly turning hysterical, "Oh god, am I dead?'

"No, you – "

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" he screamed.

"Combeferre!" Jehan yelled – which he very rarely did.

"SHUT UP!" Bahorel added, in equally dulcet tones.

"-AAAAAAAAAAA-!" came the reply.

"Combeferre, please!" Marius begged, "Or _she'll_ come in!"

At the word 'she', there was silence.

"Who?" Combeferre whispered.

"_She!_" came the rather unhelpful reply.

"Who?"

"_She!_" Jehan repeated, wide-eyed and leaning forward.

"She?" Combeferre whispered back, leaning forward too.

"She." Jehan confirmed, leaning even more.

They continued leaning closer and closer and closer…until they were interrupted by a click, and a flash that momentarily blinded them.

"What the heck was that!" Combeferre yelped, jerking back from Jehan, keeling over backwards, nearly knocking himself out on the floor, rubbing his eyes and blinking furiously.

"I say," Marius observed, "You are blinking rather furiously."

"Yes, that's right," Bahorel rolled his eyes, "Combeferre the Furious."

"Ah," Marius nodded slowly, "Catchy."

"That's not important! Who was that?" Combeferre demanded.

"The – " Jehan's voice lowered, "_Slash President!_"

"The what President?" Combeferre asked.

"The Slash President!" Jehan reiterated, confused.

"What came before the 'slash'?"

"Nothing!" came the misinterpretation.

"I mean, it must be something slash President!"

"Oh, nonono!" Jehan shook his head, tsking, "I think you misunderstand me."

"I think so." Combeferre agreed.

"'Slash' is a form of relationship in FanFiction, which is (of course) usually fiction about fiction!"

"Guh-bluh?" the bespectacled boy blinked, puzzled.

"Well, from what they explained to me, FanFiction is a form of writing. A genre."

"I see…" Combeferre nodded, not really seeing at all.

"And 'slash' is a type of couple!"

"I see…" repeated Combeferre.

"It's a very…special pairing."

"Special…how?"

"It's like…well, slash is two male characters in a couple, and fem-slash is two female characters in a couple."

"Oh."

There was a pregnant pause. Not a pause that lasted 9 months, but a pause nonetheless.

"What was up with the flash of light then?" Combeferre persisted, "What does that have to do with slash?

"In fact, what _was_ that flash?"

"We're not sure, but it's a ghastly box contraption that can somehow capture your image," Marius explained in hushed tones, "I suspect that it's some crazy invention cooked up by these crazy girls. After all, I have the vibe that they'll do _anything_ to get to us."

"Get to us?" Combeferre looked up in dread, "Get to us…how?"

"I don't know…but they seem to be madly in love with us. Fawning over us, and…Eek!" Marius shuddered.

"Psh!" Bahorel shook his head, "Women!"

"But still," Combeferre added, "That box contraption thing. What does that have to do with slash?" his voice grew louder, "In fact, what does that have to do with us at all? Me, or Jehan?"

"Well," Marius began, "when you and Jehan leaned towards each other…you sort of…" he looked around at Bahorel for help.

"Looked like you were kissing," he finalized.

Jehan blushed.

"Wh-what? No it didn't!" Combeferre said, aghast, "Me and Jehan are just friends anyways!"

"Ah, but they don't think you were 'just friends'," Bahorel added, guiltily enjoying himself, "In fact, I suspect that they're going to use any of our suspended images on their box contraption as fodder for their Slash FanFiction."

"Oh no!" Jehan blush-gasped.

"Are you serious?" Combeferre exclaimed, jumping up in indignation.

"Fodder?" Marius dimly repeated.

"From what I understand," Bahorel continued, "They need 'inspiration' for it, and what better inspiration than real characters from books? However," he frowned, "we're not part of a book."

"They think otherwise," Marius chipped in, "Kept saying something about 'The Wretched' or something like that. With a terrible French accent."

"Well," Jehan sighed, "I certainly feel wretched."

"We can't let them do this, especially to us! I'm going to stop them and find a way out of here!" Combeferre looked around his new prison for an exit.

"No!" Bahorel growled, pulling Combeferre down, then stepping away quickly, checking for any box-contraptions around, "We don't know how many there are, or what they'll do to us."

"You know, he's right. The only thing we can do is stay close together. Agreed?" Jehan looked around.

"All right…" Combeferre and the others muttered.

With this, the four sordid revolutionaries huddled together for warmth and comfort on the cold floor, feeling slightly safer and better.

Until they were interrupted by a giggle and a flash of light.

Bahorel swore.

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**A/N: Reviews are MY inspiration! And uh, I hope the next chapter will be better.**


	7. FanMaking Can Be a Dangerous Job

**A/N: I love you all so much for being patient, ;). Ta-dah!  
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**"You let Bahorel and _Combeferre_ get kidnapped?" Enjolras slowly said to Bossuet, a menacing note in his voice.

"Uh, well...um…" the poor revolutionary backed up, shrinking under the gaze of his leader.

"HOW COULD YOU LET THEM GET KIDNAPPED!" he roared, hair a mess, and spit flying everywhere as his eyes began to glow a dangerous blue.

"I must say Enjolras, you look not in the _least_ attractive when you do that," a drunken Grantaire commented casually. Well, I suppose anyone would have to be drunk to say something like that to Enjolras, but…never mind.

"I wasn't talking to you, Wine-cask!" came the screechy reply.

"All right, all right!" shrugged Grantaire, "No need to be so touchy about it."

"I'M NOT BEING TOUCHY ABOUT IT!"

"You really shouldn't bottle up your anger like that, you know," Grantaire continued.

Courfeyrac snorted, and everyone turned towards him.

"What now, Monsieur de Courfeyrac?" Enjolras said through gritted teeth.

"It's Courfeyrac, Monsieur _de_ Enjolras," Courfeyrac huffily replied, insulted, "And it was just a nice pun on R's part."

A pause. A pause not so pregnant as the one in the last chapter, but still a pause.

"What…?" the blonde revolutionary twitched, raising an eyebrow in warning.

"Oh, you know…" Courfeyrac shrugged, ignoring this omen of doom, "R said 'don't _bottle_ up your anger'. I just thought that was amusing, seeing as he already has a hard time keeping anything in a bottle in the first place."

"Oh shut up!" Grantaire sulked, throwing a bottle at Courfeyrac that narrowly missed his head.

"Ahaha, you missed!"

"Only because I wanted it to."

A rather menacing silence began to take place as the Les Amis began to quietly loathe each other. Enjolras was absolutely disgusted by Bossuet's unsatisfactory behavior, and Bossuet rather terrified and upset; Grantaire terribly upset by Courfeyrac's bluntness, and Courfeyrac himself put off by Grantaire's sudden sensitivity.

"Wait! Wait!" Feuilly suddenly said, and each head in the room turned to him, "Don't you understand? The Fangirls _want_ this to happen! They want us in discord and hating each other, don't you see?" his tone turned desperate, "Already four of my closest friends have been kidnapped by a group of lunatic girls, and I don't want that to happen again! Why, I'd sacrifice myself to get them all back! Please, mon amis, try to cooperate and understand what I mean. We can't let them prey on us slowly like this! We've got to fight back! And the only way we can fight back is to work together, in harmony, in unison, like a team, and like the _amis_ we are!"

A silence followed this moving speech, and everyone noted Joly's eyes beginning to water.

"I can't hold it in anymore, everyone!" Joly said, rubbing his nose furiously.

"Oh, Joly, it's okay. It takes a real man to cry!" Feuilly said, trying to comfort him.

"No, it's not that…it's…ah…ah…AH-CHOOOOO!"

Everyone looked bewildered for a minute. Clearly, everyone's minds were on the wrong track. They returned to hating each other.

"I give up!" Feuilly exasperatedly said, stomping out the room.

"And where are _you_ going?" Enjolras hollered, wrath astonishing.

"TO MY FANS!"

"WHAT!" Enjolras shrieked, letting go of Grantaire, "W-wait! You're going _where_? Feuilly, stop!"

Feuilly growled at the back of his throat. He wasn't going to take any of Enjolras' stupid propaganda crap anymore, "If they're all just going to ignore my advice, be fools, and let themselves be kidnapped – then fine! I'll let them! I'm just going to go on with my life – it's hard enough as it is!" he furiously set down the road – he had fans to deliver.

And oh boy, fans he would get.

"Wait, Feuilly!" Enjolras took off from the room, the other Amis following him cautiously and (in Grantaire's case) drunkenly.

Feuilly checked the address in his pocket, making sure he was heading the right direction. "Ship 10 flowered fans to a Miss Lira and a Miss Chantal – meet us at Fan-Girl Alley, 2:00," the fan-maker paused, "Huh. Why does that name sound so familiar?" he shrugged and went along with his course, frustration at his friends driving his legs faster.

"No, Feuilly!" Enjolras recognized the path his friend was taking. And he was afraid. More afraid than he'd ever been in his life. "Stop! Please!"

"Go away, Enjolras!" Feuilly did not want to be late for his appointment – this was a job, after all. Sure enough, up ahead, were two innocent looking girls, grinning at the sight of him. "Here are your fans, mademoiselles," Feuilly the Fan-Maker said.

"Merci, Monsieur Feuilly!" the two girls chorused, giggling.

"You're welcome, but um…how did you know my name?" he said, slightly uncertain and nervous.

"Oh, let's just say we're fans," Chantal grinned evilly.

"_Real_ big fans," Lira added, grinning just as creepily.

"Right, well…I'd best be going, I've got a lot to do, and I - "

"What? Oh no!" Chantal gasped, "You can't leave! Not just yet!"

"The fun's just about to begin!" agreed Lira.

"Wh-what do you mean? I've gotta go, I really do." Feuilly started backing up, slightly put-off by the looks on their face.

"FEUILLY! RUN! THEY'RE FAN-GIRLS!" Enjolras screamed.

Feuilly turned around quickly, alarmed, "They're what?"

And that's the last thing he heard, other than a big THUMP as his world turned black.  
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**A/N: God, that was short, wasn't it? I'm real sorry, y'all, for not updating sooner. I've been a) terribly lazy, and b) terribly busy.**


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